


but the truth is, it was always this (and there is no other word for it)

by majesdane



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-19
Updated: 2009-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:43:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesdane/pseuds/majesdane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Katie remembers when they stopped speaking twin.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	but the truth is, it was always this (and there is no other word for it)

  
(I am not upset. I am fine.)  
(It'd be okay, I mean I wouldn't mind so much, if it was someone else's sister.)  
(It is okay. Lots of people are it. Just none that I have known personally, that's all.)  
\-- _Girl Meets Boy_ , Ali Smith

 

 

 

Katie remembers when they stopped speaking twin.

She remembers very distinctly that _she_ was the one to stop speaking it first; Emily picked up on it right away, because usually they would talk like that while eating breakfast together downstairs, but when Emily began speaking it and Katie didn't respond -- that was when everything became clear.

Now they didn't speak like that, ever; it's been two years now since they've stopped. Katie can't remember the day, exactly, when it happened, but she does remember that it happened not long after she'd caught her sister and that cunt Naomi Campbell snogging in the backyard at the house of some tosser's name she couldn't even be arsed to remember.

She can still feel it now, the mix of emotions that had bubbled up inside of her, when she saw her sister lean in and press her lips against Naomi's. Katie, standing on the back porch, a half-empty alcohpop in one hand, the other hand gripping the railing, had watched as _Emily_ \-- her fucking _sister_ for Christ's sake -- kissed _Naomi_ , all soft and tentative, had watched as Emily pulled back.

(She hadn't needed to see Emily's face to know it was flushed ridiculously, because that's just how Emily _was_ , so fucking predictable and stupid and --)

The first thing she'd felt was shock, which was immediately replaced with a flare of anger, because what the _fuck_ , and they -- they were out here where _anyone_ could see them, and as Naomi had leaned in to kiss Emily again, Katie had stormed across the grass, kicking an empty vodka bottle out of the way.

Later, after she'd done a good deal of shouting at both Emily and Naomi, after she'd dragged Emily away from the party and they were three blocks closer to home, Emily was still crying. And Katie was still furious.

When they got home, she had cornered Emily upstairs in their bedroom.

"You're not like -- you're not a fucking lezza, Ems. Right?"

Emily had nodded mutely, swiped at her eyes with her hand. Then she'd said, "Katie, I'm sorry. I'm -- "

"Drunk, yeah," Katie had said, and she hadn't felt any less angry, because what Emily didn't get was that by kissing Naomi she made them _both_ look bad, because that was how things were; people didn't think of them as individuals. "That's the only reason you would have ever done something like that, yeah," she'd said and Emily had just kept her eyes trained on the floor, kept on nodding and sniffing pathetically.

After they'd both showered, Katie had crawled into bed with Emily, kissed her forehead and said, "I'm not like, still angry with you, alright? Just -- I'm just looking out for you, you know? You don't know what people are like, the sort of things they'd say, even if it wasn't true."

"Yeah," Emily had said, giving Katie a weak smile. "Yeah, you're right, Katie. Thanks."

That had been that; they hadn't spoken of the kiss ever again.

 

;;

 

Katie hates the way Emily's always inviting Naomi along to their little group outings, as if she wants to be like, friends with her or whatever. As if Naomi could be anything but a bitch for more than three seconds, ever. And it isn't like Emily doesn't know that Katie hates Naomi and that Naomi hates her right back; she can't for the life of her figure out what the fuck Emily is playing at.

And it's not like Naomi actually wants to be friends with her, Katie thinks rather smugly, notes with a large amount of satisfaction the way Naomi just shoots Emily down every time she tries to start a conversation with her; it only takes one annoyed eye roll, one bitchy remark, and Emily shuts right up, looks horribly sad and pathetic.

It's alright for a while though, since as far as everyone's concerned, Naomi is a big fucking dyke who tried to snog her sister back in middle school. She'll make a joke and everyone will laugh and Cook, being a right fucking tosser, will take it five steps _further_ , which Katie doesn't mind at all.

And of _course_ , Emily always flushes and stares at her shoes in that stupid, shy way of hers, like she feels fucking sorry for Naomi or something.

(Katie has re-written the entire event in her head; Naomi's the aggressor now and Emily is just stupid and drunk and confused and it's easier to think of the whole thing like this, because she can't even begin to process the alternative, where Emily _purposefully_ kisses Naomi.)

 

;;

 

The second time Katie sees Emily kissing Naomi, she feels like she's going to toss.

They're in the fucking like, bouncy castle, with Emily just fucking on _top_ of Naomi, and it's just too much. Too fucking much, and she's barely recovered from the shock -- she's not even like, _angry_ , just completely out of it, and it's partially because of the MDMA, but this is _not_ how things are supposed to go -- when Danny and his wanker friends show up, fucking things up as usual.

Katie gets proper pissed, fucks him in the bathroom, and it's not enjoyable in the least, because all she can think about the whole time is her sister snogging Naomi _fucking_ Campbell only two hours earlier.

 

;;

 

She breaks up with Danny a week later and doesn't even bother to tell Emily, because there's a sort of distance between them now that Katie's acutely aware of. It's been like this since the day after Pandora's party, where she'd cornered Emily in their room and made Emily promise that she wasn't some dyke and it was like déjà vu all over again.

She's not really sure if she even believes Emily, but she doesn't even want to entertain the idea that Emily is like, some muffmuncher, because just the thought of something like that makes her want to toss. She concludes instead that Emily's just fucking weird and that she can't handle the combination of MDMA and vodka to save her life and it's just a coincidence that Naomi Campbell has happened to be there on both occasions.

(Emily's not fucking --)

 

;;

 

In May, she begins fucking Freddie, in part because she really misses sex (even if sex with Freddie is somehow impossibly boring) and in part because she's grown to hate Effy Stonem rather a lot, for no real discernible reason other than she's a cunt to be around and so bloody popular without even trying and fucking Freddie just seems like the most logical thing to do to piss her off.

It's one more thing to add to the list of things that she doesn't tell Emily about and she doesn't really feel guilty at all for not saying anything about it, because it's none of Emily's business who she feels like fucking, first of all, and second of all, Emily's never fucking around anymore, so it's not like she has to explain where she's going when she spritzes herself in strawberry-cherry perfume and spends an hour picking out an outfit that she knows will just end up wrinkled and on the floor in Freddie's bedroom before midnight.

"Are you and that cunt Naomi like, friends now?" she asks Emily one day on their way to school, sees Emily flinch visibly at the word _cunt_.

"Sort of," Emily says, doesn't meet Katie's gaze, and Katie snorts.

"You're fucking weird, you know that," she tells Emily, who colours a bit. "I can't believe you'd even want to be like, friends with her. God, what a fucking loser."

Emily doesn't say anything, just looks sad and angry all at once; Katie doesn't care, ditches her as soon as they reach the college steps.

 

;;

 

Effy slides into the seat beside her before their politics class begins, and it's odd, Katie thinks, surprised, because she can't remember Effy ever like, sitting next to her without being asked. She looks past Effy to see Emily and Naomi sitting down at a table together, a row back --

\-- They're sitting too close to each other, she thinks. They're smiling a bit too much.

"Cute," Effy says, following Katie's gaze.

Katie snorts, reaches down and pulls her notebook out of her purse, spends a few moments fishing around for a pen. She skims through her notes (of which there aren't many), finds a blank page. She glances back over at Emily, who's got her hand over her mouth, smothering a laugh. Katie can't help but wonder what they're talking about.

Emily doesn't seem to notice Katie looking over at her, doesn't even seem to have noticed Katie at all.

"She doesn't need you any more, does she," Effy says, and it's not even a question, just a statement, and it's so blunt and truthful that it makes Katie feel sick and angry all at once. She wants to say that Emily _does_ still need her, but she thinks that Effy would see right through that, because Effy has the irritating ability to always see things for exactly what they are.

"Like I care," she says, works very hard to keep her voice steady, nonchalant. "If my sister wants to hang out with a freak like Naomi Campbell, she can go right ahead."

It's all she can think about though; during class she doesn't write a single thing down, just stares blankly at the lined paper of her notebook and thinks about what Effy said: _she doesn't need you_. Of course Emily still needs her, Katie thinks. The fact that Emily and Naomi are like, best fucking mates now -- it doesn't mean anything. Emily's just doing it to like, try and be independent or prove a point or whatever. She's doing it because she knows how much Katie hates Naomi.

(Of course that must be it, Katie thinks, because Emily's never abandoned her, not ever, because Emily's _always_ needed her. That's how it's always been.)

After class, Emily leaves with Naomi before Katie's even gotten her things packed away. Effy turns and gives her a knowing smile that makes Katie want to slap her.

 

;;

 

It's not exactly how she would have liked for Emily to find out, to have Emily walk in while she was fucking _straddling_ Freddie, the sheets around her waist, and she's grateful that at least she'd had her fucking _back_ to the door. It'd been right embarrassing, grabbing the sheets and covering herself up as fast as fucking possible, all while Emily and JJ stood there in the doorway staring dumbly.

And of course, it was _just_ like Emily to try and make her for guilty for like, doing something without telling her, even though they barely spent any time together now, even though she'd obviously been keeping secrets as well.

She'd felt her heart drop to her stomach when JJ had accidentally let it slip that Emily was --

\-- God, she can't even _begin_ to process this, because the whole thing is just fucking disgusting and wrong and all she can think about is her _sister_ snogging Naomi _fucking_ Campbell in the backyard at that party when they were in middle school and then again at Pandora's party, and Christ, who fucking knew how many times Emily'd kissed her. The whole thing made her want to toss, and, and, no, it couldn't possibly true, because she'd made Emily promise.

Emily had _promised_ that she wasn't like that.

(Whole lot of good that had done; of _course_ she'd fucking lied, had just told Katie what she knew Katie wanted to hear.)

 

;;

 

She can't even bring herself to say something bitchy to Naomi, later, at the club, and she feels right pathetic because of it.

It doesn't help that Emily's fucked off on her own and gotten herself proper pissed with cheap vodka and Katie has to push her way through the crowd to find her, pulling her away from Cook -- who has his hands fucking _everywhere_ on her, and like, Emily should fancy boys, but he's just _repulsive_. And she doesn't _mean_ to start shouting at her once they're outside, but the only thing running through her mind right now is that Emily _lied_ , that she's a fucking _dyke_ , and she can feel herself choking on the words; she just has to get them out.

It doesn't lead to anything good, of course; Emily starts to cry, slumps down on the curb, face in her hands, and she's so completely off her face and such a fucking mess that Katie _almost_ feels sorry for her.

And Katie _almost_ sits down next to her and puts her arm around Emily's shoulder and almost acts like, an actual sister for once, someone who'll tell her that it's okay and she'll love her regardless. _Almost_ does, but doesn't, even though she knows that's what she should do. What she's _supposed_ to do, instead of being such a fucking cunt about this.

But she just can't get over it; she walks away without another word. Emily doesn't call after her.

Katie doesn't go back inside, doesn't even bother to let Freddie know she's leaving. Instead, she dials for a cab; at home, she throws up in the upstairs bathroom, wipes her mouth with a shaky hand, her throat burning and tears stinging in her eyes.

(It's all fucked up now.)

 

;;

 

(It all falls apart, of course, first with Effy, and she wonders why she even thought that she and Effy could be like, _friends_ , because Effy fucking like, almost killed her with a goddamn _rock_ and then proceeded to fuck Freddie, which she should have expected, really, because Effy's never been anything short of a slut. And then things just get worse after that and she never expected that it would all happen because of fucking _Emily_ , though she should have figured that Naomi Campbell would play a hand in her undoing, the stupid fucking lezza.

And what's she supposed to say, anyway, in front of the entire class with Emily telling her to just fucking come to terms with everything and accept her as like, her own fucking person and being in love with Naomi, it's not like she can say _no_ , can she, so she ends up just nodding dumbly, mumbling _okay_ like a fucking pushover.

The only saving grace is that her parents aren't there when she gets home, so she doesn't have to answer questions like why she's back home so early, where Emily is, why her dress is torn and there's a cut on her cheek. She climbs into the shower, turns the water on as hot as she can stand, stands there for what feels like ages, until the water starts to go cold.)

 

;;

 

It's so fucking obvious, really, that Emily's like, the epitome of gay, and Katie's a bit shocked that it took her this long to notice that, because, box of fannies aside, her side of the room's covered in posters of girls.

(She grudgingly admits that the Audrey Hepburn picture is nice, but she thinks Fergie is just plain awful, even if she does like "London Bridge," and thinks decidedly that Emily has no fucking like, solid taste in anything at all. And then there's the giant fucking Blondie poster and it's just so fucking obvious as to what it's _meant_ to be that it's almost sickening.)

She's still a bit put off by Emily's like, collection of porn or whatever, ends up thinking about it while taking a shower three nights later and somehow her mind shifts to the image of Emily just like, wanking off while looking at pictures of a half-naked Bettie Page, and it's so shocking that she drops the bottle of lemon-lime scented conditioner on her foot and has a bruise there for a whole week.

 

;;

 

It's not like she thinks about it on purpose, but sometimes she imagines what it's like, fucking another girl. And then she thinks about her sister and Naomi, thinks about the time she accidentally walked in on them once, when Emily's hand was up Naomi's shirt and her skirt was hiked up much too far around her thighs -- it's not like she _wants_ to be thinking about these sort of things, but she can't help it. She thinks about fucking boys and doesn't think that fucking girls would be at all similar, can't even begin to imagine why Emily would _want_ to fuck a girl, because the whole idea of it is disgustingly off-putting.

(She almost asks Emily about it, then decides she'd rather not know.)

And one evening she wakes up sweaty, her pyjamas sticking to her skin in a suffocating sort of way, and there's a terrible ache in her that she can't ignore; she pushes her hand beneath her shorts, her knickers, strokes roughly until she's gotten herself off -- and all she can think about is her sister fucking Naomi, her tongue bubblegum pink, sliding along the underside of Naomi's breast, the inside of her thigh -- and feels fucking disgusting afterward. She wipes her hand on the sheets with a grimace and heads straight to the bathroom.

She takes a shower as hot as she can manage, scrubs at her skin under it's red and sore, but it doesn't make her feel any better.

 

;;

 

"You need to like, stop fucking off to Naomi's house all the time," Katie informs Emily, who's in the kitchen making herself a sandwich. Emily frowns and rolls her eyes and Katie just _knows_ she's going to come up with a snide remark in a moment, so she hurries up and adds, "I can't cover for you every sodding day of the week, you stupid twat." She frowns, annoyed. "Christ, even _I_ wasn't gone every night. Show some fucking restraint or whatever."

"You don't know what's it like, Katie," Emily says, in that obnoxiously righteous tone of hers that Katie hates. "Mum and Dad don't care who you date."

"Well, I wasn't the one filling our family in on my bloody sex life at the dinner table, was I?" Katie says, balls her hands into fists, because the last thing she wants is to start a fight.

(She can't seem win any fight with Emily nowadays, physical or not; she's still got the cut on her cheek from the Love Ball, a constant reminder of the night _Emily_ became the strong one and _she_ became the weak one.)

"Honestly," Katie says, because Emily's pointedly ignoring her now. "This isn't about me hating Naomi or like, your relationship or whatever. I'm just trying to be sensible for once, is all."

"You talked to Mum, didn't you?" Emily screws the cap of the mustard jar back on.

"About what?"

"Told her I wasn't a _dyke_ , yeah," Emily says, opening the refrigerator. "Isn't that what you said? That you told Mum I'd just like, made it all up?"

Katie hesitates. "Well, yeah, but -- "

"So we're sorted, then," Emily says firmly. "Because as long as you keep covering for me -- like you _should_ , Katie, considering the _years_ I spent covering for _you_ \-- there shouldn't be a problem. Right?"

"You don't _know_ , like, for sure," Katie starts to say, but Emily walks off before she can even point out that their mum probably didn't even believe her when she'd try to make it out like Emily was only lying about the whole Naomi thing for attention and that it'd probably do a world of good if Emily would stop acting like --

\-- Like how _she_ used to, Katie thinks, somewhat miserably.

 

;;

 

Occasionally Emily brings Naomi round to the house, when their parents are out.

Naomi's usually a bitch to her, which is fine, because she can deal with that, but she finds herself getting rather ill every time she and her sister act all stupidly in love right in front of her, all shy smiles and whispers and soft touches; it's just too much. It's worse even than the times when Emily makes a less than subtle remark about needing their bedroom for an hour or so, because then at least she doesn't have to be like, right fucking there watching them be all gay together.

It's horribly awkward, is what it is, because apparently Naomi's actually like, an alright person when she's with Emily, who is so obviously smitten that it makes Katie want to toss. At most she can usually tolerate five minutes of them sitting on the couch with her while they watch a movie, or telly, depending what's on, with them holding hands and looking all happy and content without even trying, before she fucks off to the garden to get high.

"Can we ever like, do something without Naomi coming along as well?" she asks, irritated, when she and Emily are out shopping and Naomi's off sulking outside with a fag because Katie hadn't been able to resist pointing out her obvious lack of fashion sense and they'd probably have gotten into a proper fight if Emily hadn't stepped between them, kissing Naomi and telling Katie to shut up.

Emily sighs heavily, hangs a shirt back up on the rack. "I don't see what the problem is, you've always been joined at the hip with all of your boyfriends, why can't I spend time with Naomi?"

"You're more than joined at the hip with her," Katie snorts, moves over to another rack of clothing, inspecting a pair of charcoal-coloured trousers. "For fuck's sake, Em, you're practically like, married."

Emily colours and says, "Well, you could at least _try_ to get on with her."

"Whatever," Katie says, rolls her eyes. They don't discuss it any further.

 

;;

 

There are times when she just wants to say what's actually on her mind, for once, to just finally come out with the truth, that she can't stand Naomi because Naomi's taken Emily away from her, that she's managed, somehow, to dismantle everything between them that they'd built up over the years.

And she wants to know how one stupid, drunken kiss from middle school could have started all of this.

 

;;

 

Emily crawls into bed with her one night, on one of those rare occasions where she hasn't fucked off to Naomi's, leaving Katie to come up with another lame excuse, another weak cover, another night of being all by herself again, with no defences left. She crawls into Katie's bed and kisses her on the cheek; her fringe brushes against Katie's nose; it tickles.

She settles in beside Katie, wrapping an arm around Katie's waist, tucking her head against Katie's neck with a sigh. Katie reaches up, strokes Emily's forearm idly. They're quiet for several long moments, until Emily says, softly, "I don't want you to hate me, Katie."

"I don't hate you."

"I know, but . . ." she trails off, sighs. Katie feels her shift; she stills her own hand. "It's not that I want you to like Naomi -- well, I mean, I _do_ , but I'm not asking for you to be mates with her or anything, just to be civil around her -- but I hate that there's like this wall between us now, because of her."

"Well, what the fuck, Ems," Katie snorts. "What did you expect to happen?"

Emily doesn't respond. Katie sighs.

"I'm trying, okay? I'm trying and that's all I can do right now."

"I know," Emily kisses her cheek again. "And I'm sorry like, if I've fucked things up, I just -- "

"Emily, shut up," Katie murmurs, closing her eyes, feeling a headache starting to come on. Emily lapses into silence and Katie expects at any moment for Emily to untangle herself and go over to her own bed, because they're awfully cramped lying here, and they haven't ever slept in the same bed together since they were seven.

But Emily stays, and it's not long until Katie hears the sound of her breathing, low and steady, and a glance over confirms that Emily's fallen asleep. She's struck, suddenly, by how soft Emily looks while sleeping and how she can't believe that this is the first time she's ever really noticed. A stab of guilt at that, at the realisation that she's always spent more time worrying about herself, how she should have protected Emily, instead of always being the one to hurt her.

(Only, she _had_ tried to protect her, hadn't she, she hadn't wanted her sister to be one of _those_ people, gay, how she'd lied and told their mum that Emily'd just made everything up.

It wasn't the right sort of protecting, though, that had been the problem.)

Emily's hair smells like vanilla, an unfamiliar scent.

Katie sighs, kisses her on the forehead, tries to sleep; she can't.

Things will get better, she thinks. Well, they must.


End file.
